Echoes of Daybreak
by Sakura-chan79
Summary: Eleven: She wants her fairy tale to be a little like reality, too. -Micaiah/Zelgius- & -Micaiah/Black Knight- Oneshots.
1. Feudal Guardian

He was supposed to be dead.

He _was_ dead, until about two minutes ago. She is captivated by his presence and by the sense of mystery that clung to him even now. He was ever the enigmatic one, ever the one who was never known. She is fascinated by the sound of his voice, fascinated by the way he holds his sword, the way he swings it in a tall arc to catch the light of the moon. She is transfixed simply by the way he _moves_ so efficiently—so effortlessly!—encased in that black armour. She knows it must weigh many tons.

She moves without really comprehending what she is doing. She stays close by the side of a dead legend that is not so dead now. She wonders how this could be: how could he still be alive? Everyone in the world—from the smallest child to the most elderly—knew that he had perished in an epic battle three years ago. How could it be that he is here now, with her, protecting her from harm?

_How are you alive? _She wants to ask him this question so badly that she is easily distracted this night. It is good he is here to protect her. _By what miracle did you survive? Was it the favour of the goddess that saved you? Or something more? _She has so many things she wishes to ask this man, this legend, but she knows she cannot—not now, probably not ever. They are private, and she has only just met him. It would be rude to ask these questions. So she decided that she will not.

Vaguely, without noticing, she raises one arm and summons a spell of Light into being. She barely notices the Light flare around her and spring forth from her fingers to attack her opponent; she is still mesmerized by the movements of her protector, her knight in damaged armour. Yet she reflects on how even though his armour is dented and full of old sword strokes, it is still in one piece, can still easily protect the wearer.

Who is under it? She longs to know who her protector truly is. He is not just the enigmatic Black Knight, not just a legend recently revived from the dead, but a real person (for she does not believe there is a reanimated corpse inside or a spirit or some such horrific thing). He must be a very great man to have survived the Mad King's War to protect her now. She is grateful for him, more grateful than she has been for anyone before (except for Sothe, because to him, she will _always, always, always _be grateful and so much more than grateful).

And he saves her again and again, and she can only wonder at his strength, his impossible speed, his very life. He is a puzzle and she has always liked puzzles, but he is a puzzle she does not think she can solve (at least, not right away and maybe not ever).

"Do not leave my side, Maiden."

He does not order her, this Black Knight, and for that, she is happy. He is firm but he leaves the choice to her and she likes that. But she knows she would not leave his side anyway; she wants to stay by his side, to learn of him what little she can while he is still here. So she answers "I will," sincerely and with joy. He has been an enemy to everyone except her. He is her newfound protector and she won't leave his side; he will have to leave her (and she knows that he will).

For now, for this brief moment, she is content.

* * *

**A/N:** For some reason, I've had this odd desire to write about Micaiah and Zelguis/Black Knight. I didn't like her much at first, but she's grown on me, and I think this would be sort of cute. Don't know why, it was a random whim. I will be writing more, I think, as the mood strikes me. It's...too cute to pass up.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.


	2. The Black Knight Lives

He watches her closely. He sees every individual string of hair arc gracefully through the air, sees every piece gather the dim lighting of the moon and shine. He watches as she extends her arm high above her head and—in a tongue so ancient that few remember it—summons Light into being. It envelops her in swirls of white and gold and flows from the tips of her perfectly formed fingers to the very heart of her enemy. He is captivated by her gracefulness, her utter beauty as she is crowned with Light.

The Light fades and they are once again standing in darkness. The moonlight continues to shine down upon the earth and he feels as though it shines only upon them, upon their deadly dancing. He feels as though they _are_ dancing, without touching, without realizing. He raises his sword, holy Alondite, almost without realizing it and strikes down an opponent he does not see but knows is there. His eyes follow her, the silver-haired maiden, small and slight, almost as though he thinks that she will disappear should his eyes leave her for even one moment.

He does not know what to make of this feeling. He lowers Alondite, dripping with the blood of Begnion—yet why would that bother him? He has killed many, and Alondite was stained long ago with the blood of others, innocents and villains alike. He lowers the holy sword slowly and wonders if he will ever spill her blood with his sword. Her back is to him, her fingers stroking the covers of her Thani tome and he knows how easy it would be for him to strike her down.

But he does not want to.

He does not like to strike his opponents down from behind. And he does not want to strike her down at all. He is not a good man—and he is well reconciled with that fact—yet she does not care; he likes that in her. She is willing to allow a murderer, a criminal such as him to protect her from harm and not think twice about it. She smiles at him, is grateful for his help, and yet refuses to cling to him. She is emotionally strong, he sees, and physically weak: she does not let this hold her back.

_Maiden of Dawn,_ they say. Even now, he is sure there are people speaking of her greatness, hailing her wonders, praising her beauty. She heralds in the dawn for all of Daein; she is the one person capable of saving the country and ushering in morning. For this reason alone he must protect her. Yet, he feels that there is something more, another reason for his actions. There is another reason for raising Alondite high, time and time again, to keep her safe and untouched. And it is for this reason he chooses to fight; the former reason he was given, this one he chose.

"Stay close to me, Maiden," he murmurs through the black helmet. She cannot see his face. That is as it should be.

She turns and smiles radiantly, hair tossing in another arc, tome hugged to her chest. "I will," she says sincerely.

Beneath his helmet, the Black Knight smiles a true smile—his first in a very long time.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's the next update. A slight bit shorter than the last one, but I like this one a lot anyway.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.


	3. Stalking Menace

He had been watching her for weeks.

Hiding in the alleys of Nevassa, long before her adventures had truly begun, he had melted in with the shadows of the streets and watched her carefully. He was so good at spying (or perhaps it would be more proper to say stalking) that there was never any chance of him being caught—not by those foolish Begnion soldiers, not by the Dawn Brigade, and not by her. He would never be caught unless he wanted to be—it was a skill he had had to learn many long years ago. He could never have survived this long otherwise. That was his fate, his curse. To always be on the move, always hiding in shadows, or behind black armour.

He was used to it now, of course. It didn't vex him the way it had when he had been younger, more naive. Much could be accomplished by keeping to the shadows, by lying in wait patiently until it was the proper time to make his move. Now, these skills were proving quite useful again: following her every day and every night through the streets of Nevassa, remaining uncaught, unseen, unknown.

He bore her no ill will, no hate. He was not going to give her up to the Begnion authorities (although, he was confident that even if he did, she would be able to evade them easily enough just as she always did) and he was not going to reveal his presence. He was there merely to observe her, as Lord Persis had suggested. Lord Persis had not said _why_ he thought it a good idea to observe her, but he had long since learned it was not necessary (or proper) to question his master. So, he did as his master had suggested and come to Nevassa and begun to observe the girl's daily activities, her personality, and her relationships with her companions and with the citizens of Daein's capital.

He hadn't had any expectations when he had first come here: what ought he to have expected? A replica of General Ike of Crimea in female form? A replica of himself in female form? A maiden in distress? Certainly, she was none of these things; indeed, it was rather difficult to place any sort of real label on her for she defied every usual mould. Every usual mould except for one, at least.

The same mould he himself was from.

He wondered how she was able to hide it. Not the mark (although she barely bothered to hide _that_; she might as well not hide it at all, seeing as how often she used it to help others) but her own physical features. Her hair alone gave her away as inhuman and her eyes were only the second clue; beorc did not possess gold eyes. She was something of an enigma and he was determined to solve the puzzle she presented. Was this what Lord Persis had desired to happen? Had he suspected it would? Probably; at the very least, it would prove useful for keeping his interest in this young woman, for whatever reason Lord Persis had not revealed. He did not resent this in the least, as many others would have. He did not feel manipulated, as others would have: he owed the utmost loyalty to Lord Persis. That changed everything.

That mould connected them. It was an odd thought, but it was one he was unable to shake. He had expected nothing from her; he hadn't expected her to be anyone spectacular. And, in one way, she wasn't. She wasn't some mythic heroine summoned back from death to aid the living now; she wasn't some warrior-princess from some faraway land that had magically avoided being destroyed in the Great Flood; she wasn't some noble lady who took from the rich and gave to the poor. No, she wasn't any other these things. She was a regular young woman, like any other young woman, who lived a poor life, who thought the rich to be pompous bastards (which, truth be told, they were), and who did what she could for her fellow citizens. That did not make her spectacular, not in his eyes. Anyone could do that, and many people were like that, especially in these troubled times where everyone had to look out for each other.

What made her spectacular was not the fantastical qualities that heroines were supposed to have (which she rather lacked) but simply the kind of person she was. The fact that she was Branded, as he was, and that she was to be the centre of the coming tale (he didn't need Lord Persis to tell him that a new tale was beginning to unfold or that she obviously would have something to do with it) was part of what made her spectacular. Until only recently, Branded were people who kept to themselves, striving to remain unnoticed, unremarked. Really, until three years ago, no Branded had ever been at the centre of anything (not, at least, where it would be noticeable to all the world). Even he, as he had served under the Mad King, had never been foolish enough to put aside his armour while in Daein or while running errands for his so-called "master". No one had ever guessed, or _would_ ever guess, that a filthy Branded wore that armour and had been the Champion of Daein. Hiding oneself completely was the only way a Branded had ever been able to be at the centre of events, and even so, few had chosen such a dangerous path.

Seeing this young woman prance around Nevassa without any sort of disguise had unsettled him at first. Her silver hair was a beacon for anyone willing to hand her over for a reward (should they be able to catch her). Wouldn't it have been safer (and smarter) for her to have dyed her hair so that she could blend in better? And eventually, that hair would give her away. He had seen others of their kind caught and killed because they had let lesser clues slip. How had she survived for long, undisguised? He was amazed by that. Surely people would have noticed the multitude of irregularities that surrounded her (her hair, her eyes, her agelessness, Sacrifice, the many quirks of her personality) and questioned them?

Yet, then again, perhaps not. Maybe they had not noticed because they were so desperate now that they accepted the help of anyone who could—and would—give it. He could see no other reason for her continued survival in a country who hated anyone not of pure Daein blood. It amazed him. She amazed him.

And so he followed her through Nevassa as a silent shadow-stalker-protector. And he knew now, that regardless of the unsaid motives Lord Persis had when he sent him here, Zelguis would protect her no matter what simply because he wanted to.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you to those of you who have reviewed, and also to those of you who read this story so far. I love writing collections of one-shots, and so I hope this one doesn't end up dying on me. I'm having a lot of fun delving into the characters of Micaiah and the Black Knight (and Zelguis :3) so I hope you stick with me through it all (although, even if you don't that won't stop me :D).

Anyway, it should be noted I took some artistic liberty with this. Obviously, unless my memory greatly fails me, nothing like this is hinted at or mentioned in the game. I made it up entirely. Secondly, this chapter was as much of a Micaiah examination as it was a Zelguis one, so it got intertwined quite a lot. So if it seems really Zelguis-focused, well...that would be why.

So if you have any other comments, please leave a review. I usually reply to signed ones so I will try to do that if you sign yours. If not, I love reviews anyway! But it's not mandatory of course :D

**Disclaimer:** I don't own even the smallest of small rights to this game. If I did, my education would be paid for.


	4. Conviction

_My Maiden. I will protect you._

Micaiah had never thought anyone would refer to her like that. Possession was never used towards the Branded. Now, it's true that he may not realize she was Branded (it was something she always strove to keep secret but then again the Black Knight was a master of secrecy) but still...somehow, regardless of whether or not anyone knew of the blood running through her veins, no one ever spoke to her like that (her or any Branded...was that something beorc could sense? Is that why they never spoke in terms of possession to the Branded?). She couldn't even remember Sothe speaking like that to her.

Even though he was covered from head to toe in ebon armour and she could not see his face from behind his helmet, Micaiah knew he was looking straight at her, right into her eyes (or into her soul?). He had only turned his head in her direction but she had no doubt he looked only at her, cared only about her. He didn't see Sothe standing to her right or King Naesala to her left. He didn't see the Empress Sanaki with her two loyal bodyguards standing some distance behind Sothe. He didn't see _anyone _else. She wasn't sure how she had come to that particular conclusion. It was instinctual. She just knew.

Sothe had gone rigidly still beside her. No one could have failed to hear the Black Knight's words. They had been clear and confident, loud but not cocky. A simple statement of fact. Sothe's breathing became agitated (was he jealous?) and she heard him tighten his grip on the knife in his hand. She thought he might have muttered some colourful curses under his breath, but she did not care. She smiled at the Black Knight in response, hoping yet somehow knowing he could see it. He gave no visible response back to her; he turned towards Numida's army and raised his sword high so that it glinted in the sunlight.

"Stay away from him, Micaiah," Sothe murmured softly to her.

"There is no need to fear," Micaiah replied in the same soft way. "He will not hurt me."

"Not you," Sothe agreed pessimistically.

She smiled and put a hand on his forearm. His muscles were tense. "Calm yourself. He won't harm any of us. To harm any of you would be to harm me."

"You don't know him," Sothe muttered.

"I know him better than you, Sothe," Micaiah said quietly. "I know you're only worried about me. Please don't be. We'll all be fine."

Sothe did not respond for what seemed a very long time. Micaiah did not remove her hand. "Very well," he said at last. "I trust you. I always have."

"Thank you, Sothe."

But Sothe would _always _worry about her. She knew that. There wasn't any reason to, not now. But Sothe didn't have the same intuition as she did. The Black Knight would not hurt her. He was enigmatic, dangerous, different—there was never any doubt of that. He was a man to be feared. Yet Micaiah did not fear him; _she_ did not need to fear him. Perhaps she was the only person who could say such a thing but that didn't change the truth of the situation.

She felt a strange sense of _closeness _to him, something she couldn't quite explain. His use of possessiveness in relation to her was something unpredicted. But she didn't mind it, not one bit. She rather liked it, if truth be told. She tried not to smile too obviously; she didn't want to pique anyone's (Sothe's) interest in her inner thoughts.

"You must come with me, Maiden," the Knight said to her in his slow, deep voice. The battle had ended. The bodies Disciples of Order littered the sands. "My master awaits you in the Tower of Guidance."

Micaiah was slightly taken aback by this news. "Go to the Tower of Guidance? Now?"

The Knight nodded. "Yes, my Maiden." He paused and shifted slightly. "Take my arm, and I will have you there in an instant."

At first, Micaiah's spirit's lifted—to reach the Tower so swiftly! It was a blessing indeed! (and she did not doubt that the Black Knight could do as he claimed)—but almost immediately thereafter her spirits fell: how could she leave her companions? He noticed her hesitation. "Come, my Maiden. I will not harm you, and we do not have much time."

"Sir Knight, I can not accept your kind offer," she replied softly. "I can not leave my friends behind."

The Knight had no visible reaction (he was, of course, completely hidden by armour) and Micaiah began to wonder what he was thinking. Finally he shrugged—she would have laughed at the carelessness of the movement (which didn't really befit the Black Knight) if she hadn't been so anxious to hear him speak—and backed away from her. "Very well. I shall return for you again soon, my Maiden. Be ready to accompany me then." And he was gone suddenly in a flash of light.

And the only thing she really remembered was the way he said "My Maiden".

* * *

Exams have come upon me, so there won't be updates for at least a week, and possibly longer—Christmas is coming up too, my cards aren't done (as usual) and so there won't be a whole lot of time for this for a little while.

By the way, this jumps ahead of the other chapters to the desert chapter in Radiant Dawn. In which I finally managed to recruit Stefan (and it took forever). Thank you also for your kind reviews. They make my day :)


	5. Eternal Bond

_What if you could change things? Change things that have already happened. If you could do that...would you choose differently? _A pause. _Would you have left me, now that you know how things must be? How things must end?_

Zelguis had been unable to answer back then. The question had been sudden, unexpected. And Sephiran had smiled the sad smile that Zelguis knew so well and said _I thought so._ Zelguis had merely stared after Sephiran's retreating back as he entered the glowing Tower. He hadn't said it, but it hung in the air so thickly that Zelguis clearly heard the unspoken words: _I thought so, but it is too late to back out now. _And of course, Zelguis knew he was right.

But he had not entered the Tower when Sephiran did. Their enemies were far from here yet, and Zelguis had some small matters to take care of. Thus he donned his ebon armour once more, his thoughts still whirling in circles about what Sephiran had said. Would he have chosen differently, had he known? Zelguis could not answer.

With Alondite hanging from his belt and his scarlet cloak securely tied into place, Zelguis used his Warping Powder with the same ease he had always possessed. Why was something like this so simple, and yet answering one question so difficult? Zelguis could not say.

He reappeared in the Grann Desert, where he knew Micaiah to be travelling, in the midst of enemies. He turned about to catch sight of her, to look her right in the eyes (even from such a far distance!) and said, loudly, clearly and confidently _My Maiden, I will protect you._

Yet seeing Micaiah with her green-haired shadow only made Sephiran's words echo louder in his head—she felt safe with the boy, happy with him. Zelguis did not know those feelings. She felt _loved_—even while swinging Alondite in complex arcs and never standing still for even a moment as he faced the Disciples of Order, Zelguis saw her wherever he turned, saw her courage, her happiness, her absolute faith in him and in her companions. And he saw (because it was so painfully obvious to him) the radiant smiles she bestowed upon Sothe—her love for him was painted on her face. It hurt him somewhere deep inside the heart he tried not to feel. And he knew that the love he felt for her (the love he hadn't fully realized he felt for her until just now) was unrequited. And it would remain unrequited.

Feeling his heart break (that same heart he tried so hard to pretend did not exist) Zelguis swung his holy sword more fiercely and though he did not speak as he fought, he poured all his pain into Alondite, he came to his conclusion. He had found the answer to Sephiran's question.

_You must come with me, Maiden,_ Zelguis said. The words sounded hollow. _My master awaits you in the Tower of Guidance._

_The Tower of Guidance? Now?_

_Yes. Take my arm, and we will be there in an instant._

Zelguis knew she would refuse even before she did. He knew she would not agree that she could never leave her companions. She loved them (she loved her shadow) as she did not love him, as no one had loved him except for (perhaps) Sephiran. And so he tried not to let her refusal hurt, as if she had just refused to allow him to court her as any gentleman would have liked. And he returned alone.

* * *

The Tower of Guidance was tall, and though mere mortals were not supposed to enter the sacred place, the world was tipped upon its head now, and such mundane rules were ignored and thrown aside. For the moment, the Tower was empty save for the goddess herself and Sephiran. His footsteps echoed in the empty chambers which he took no notice of. He climbed the stairs of the Tower purposefully; he was barely aware that he still wore his ebon armour.

In the antechamber to Ashera's own, Zelguis removed his helmet and knelt in the centre. Sephiran's back was to him, his long black hair shining despite the lack of light. He stood straight and tall, the white of his robes contrasting beautifully with the black of his hair. He was, Zelguis thought suddenly, truly beautiful. Just as Micaiah was.

"She did not come."

"I am sorry, My Master."

Sephiran shook his head causing his hair to cascade around him and then fall right back into place perfectly as though he had not moved at all. "It is of no consequence."

It was not a dismissal. Sephiran's dismissals were obvious. Zelguis waited, as still as the statues outside. "You have something you wish to say," Sephiran said finally, turning to face him. "Speak."

Zelguis could not remember ever seeing him look so sad, so very _old._ Not the old of wrinkles and tiredness. The old of one who has lived too long, seen too much, done too much. Someone was wise and unwise at the same time; who bore a burden he kept to himself and yet shared with others. "You once asked me that if I could go back to when we met, knowing how things would end up, if I would change mind my mind. If I would have left you."

Sephiran nodded but he did not speak.

Micaiah's face filled Zelguis's mind, and her voice filled his ears. His heart seemed to lurch forward with pain of remembering her, of being unable to forget the smile that was not his. It steeled his resolve.

"I would not have chosen differently."

And Sephiran (who loved him rather than Micaiah) smiled.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I was playing _Radiant Dawn _yesterday and it came to me that Sothe really loves Micaiah and she really loves him. And I thought that, since I like Zelguis/Micaiah as well, it was sad for him to lose out to a little boy who is always going to be so much younger. And I thought that Sephiran was probably one of the only people who really got to know him and who might have loved him (not necessarily romantically).

So I wrote this as a companion piece to the last chapter in which perhaps Zelguis saw the love that exists between Micaiah and Sothe which then served to steel his resolve to remain by Sephiran's side as their enemy.

Hopefully the next one won't be quite so depressing :)


	6. Dark Traveler

_When she was just a fortune-teller, just a poor girl in the slums of Nevassa, she met a strange man. This was long before the war had begun, if only shortly after Ashnard had taken the throne. And, of course, it was long before the war against Ashera had begun. Back then, she had only one companion, the one green-haired child who remained by her side ever since that fateful day that they had met (excepting when she deliberately left him behind, just that once). Except for him, she was alone in the world, known only as an uncannily accurate fortune-teller. And she liked it that way, for the most part._

_She gave free readings and fortunes to the poor of the city. She was known in passing gossip among the upper classes, and occasionally a rich lady in disguise (which was never much of a disguise) came to have her fortune told as well. From the rich, she extracted a small fee which she would distribute to those among the poor who needed it the most. She enjoyed helping people in any ways she could, and so her self-appointed job as a fortune-teller was perfectly satisfying. _

_It was not often travellers passing through Nevassa on some lofty quest or another passed through the slums; they preferred to remain in the main part of the city, where they could be seen and gather information from the middle and upper classes. The poor wouldn't know what was going on in the Court of King Ashnard, or how long it would take to journey from here to Melior. They couldn't give any gossip to a traveller which would be of any interest to him; what did he care about how Mrs Dorr had recently lost both her husband and daughter in a tragic accident or how the Lualdi's daughter had suddenly run off with a strange blond-haired boy to Ashera-Knows-Where? _

_So when a traveller took a seat in front of her on the rough-hewn stool in front of her fortune-telling booth, she was not entirely sure what to think. He was evidently a tall, broad-shouldered man. He wore a black cloak with its cowl pulled over his head, casting his face in shadow. She could only see a hint of red gilded armour beneath the cloak and the black hilt of a long sword at his side. The stranger dropped two gold pieces on the table in front of her. "Is this enough to have my fortune told?" he asked kindly. She hadn't expected such a kind voice from such an intimidating fellow. She nodded._

_"More than enough," she murmured, taking the coins and depositing them in her pouch. She then set a deck of curiously detailed cards on the table and asked him to choose which four he wanted. He took his time, seemingly examining the backs of each as though they would give him some sign or another about what they were. Most people, she recalled, didn't really think about it—they scanned them and chose four at random. This man seemed to take the whole thing rather seriously, something she wasn't used to seeing._

_Finally, he pointed to four cards. She packed the others away, and one by one she flipped them over and read his fortune. He seemed pleased with what she told him, and she thought that she had detected a slight note of ill humour in his chuckle. Had he expected something of that sort? It perplexed her. He was strangely intriguing, but she had no way of detaining him longer. He stood and bowed handsomely to her, as though she were a regally dressed princess in a royal court and he little more than a lowly courtier. "My thanks, Lady," he said softly, in a very gentleman-like manner. "It is not often I meet one such as you."_

_"My pleasure, kind sir," she said, inclining her head slightly because she felt too foolish and too embarrassed to curtsy in the middle of the street to a complete stranger. The double meaning of his words was not lost on her; she'd felt her blood react as soon as he'd sat down at her table and simply known. "Perhaps we shall meet again one day, in happier times and without disguise."_

_"I shall hope so," he murmured, and then turned away and melted into the crowd._

_After he had gone, she glanced down to the forgotten cards on the table. Her eyes were inevitably drawn to Number Thirteen: Death. The illustration on the card was of a cloaked and hooded man—Death incarnate—with a scythe in one hand, black storm clouds around his head and pools of blood at his feet. It struck her then that the man who had just left had been dressed quite similarly to Death on that card. She ran one long finger down the card, wondering if perhaps that was coincidence. _

_She was not inclined to think so. Perhaps Ashera had a hand in this. "Transition," she murmured, "Not only was that a part of his fortune, but he himself was dressed like Death, as though he himself_ were_ transition. Coincidence, or not? Perhaps he brings transition wherever he goes, to whomever he meets, and yet has yet to undergo it himself?" She paused. "Quite the puzzle..."_

* * *

She stood facing the dying man. His red-gilded armour was not enough to hide his pain or the blood which flowed from his wounds onto the cold flagstones. He managed only a weak smile to her, a smile reminiscent of one who was already holding Death's hand. "To think that...the next time we were to meet, it was supposed to be a happier time..." He chuckled ruefully, although this only caused him more pain. He coughed up blood and it made her flinch. "One more promise I cannot keep."

"Don't talk like that!" she pleaded. "You aren't breaking a promise...you never made it a promise. It was your hope only." She felt tears begin to course slowly down her cheeks. "I hadn't realized until now that...you were that stranger. That stranger who brought change."

He smiled sadly.

"It's not bad!" she said quickly, "I mean...I....don't die, all right?" she cried, grabbing his hand. "Please don't die. Happier times are coming."

"Death," he replied, "Is the only form of happiness I would ever have been allowed to acquire."

His hand grew cold in hers, and she felt a numbness pervade her body and her senses. She knew he was gone, and did not want to admit it. Even though she hadn't seen him up close without his face covered in some way until this very moment, she felt as though she had always known his features, as though she had taken great care to study and remember them. "You could have remained here with us...remained and brought that transitional change that you were so infamous for."

More tears. Her grip on his hand tightened.

"Zelgius."

* * *

**Author's Note: **The next part is now finished. Which is surprising, since I have something like three essays to write. Oh well. Inspiration for fictional works takes precedence, apparently. Anyway, I'm on a tarot card thing again. And so, to make a long story short, I decided Zelgius represents Death (I also have far too much time on my hands, apparently, which could be better used in relation to schoolwork). I may do another one about Micaiah's representation, but we'll see...

And I guess I lied last time. This one isn't much happier (it's also slightly AU-ish, since Micaiah herself does not speak to Zelgius as he dies; Yune does). Also note that every chapter previous to this, I spelt "Zelgius" as "Zelguis". A very stupid mistake which, at the moment, I'm too busy (lazy) to go and correct, so from here on out, I'll spell it correctly. Sorry about that.

Also, since I am such a loser, you get two (imaginary) cookies for finding my pathetic references to Tales of Symphonia 1 and 2 (one from each). See you next time :)

**Disclaimer:** Nothing is mine.


	7. Silence Reigns

The Tower of Guidance was a magical and highly sacred place, particularly to Ashera's faithful. It was especially dear to the people of Begnion, since it stood within their own boarders, yet the Tower held sway within the hearts of all people of all nations, beorc and laguz alike. Those who loved Ashera—those who worshipped her as the goddess—loved the Tower and would never even _think_ of entering it. It was forbidden for mere mortals to enter it anyway—yet even the thought, the curious desire to do so, was considered sacrilege. Certainly, Micaiah had never entertained the thought that she would one day see the interior, much less climb its stairs to the very top level.

She paused on the stairs as they left the room where the unmasked Black Knight lay cold and still against the wall. He seemed to be so accepting of his death that she hadn't known what to say to him (what did one say to a dying man?). Of course, Yune had control of her body at that point, as she often did when they were inside the Tower. Micaiah was becoming so unused to having her body to herself. Not that she didn't enjoy Yune's company or wasn't honoured to be Yune's host, but hosting a goddess came with its own restrictions. Being unable to speak with Zelgius on her own was one of them.

Admittedly, he had been far too weak to speak much at all, even to Yune. What could he have to say to Micaiah? It made sense to speak with Yune—she was the counterpart to Ashera, their enemy, the one he served (although she was not so sure now that his loyalties were given to Ashera alone). Of course he would speak to Yune, his enemy, before he died.

But _Micaiah_ wanted to talk to him. Not because he was their enemy or because General Ike had finally defeated (for the final time) the one man who had transcended all legends of the world but because he had been her protector, her saviour. She wanted, above all, to thank him. Sothe was a devout and good protector but there was something lacking in how he went about that job. Perhaps it was only because his slight, lithe form paled in comparison to the large, muscular one of Zelgius.

Nevertheless, she wanted to thank him. He had protected her—on orders from another, she was sure—and she was grateful. He had never betrayed a hint of dislike in that supposedly self-appointed job. Where he had been the enemy of practically everyone else in the world, Zelgius had been her protector, _her friend._ She had genuinely liked the infamous Black Knight and defended him to everyone who spoke ill of him. She wanted to tell him that. She wanted him to know that there was even just one person in the world who had not hated him.

That there was at least one person who had loved him.

But he was dead before she had a chance to say anything. Dead after only moments of speaking to Yune. And all that she had wanted to say remained unsaid. The unspoken words did not even hang in the air.

_I am sure he knows that now, _Yune's sweet voice whispered in Micaiah's heart. Micaiah felt an invisible child-like hand grab her own and give her a quick squeeze of support. _How could he not? Your feelings were so thick in the air that he could not have failed to understand. _She paused. _Feelings often say more than words._

_I hope you are right, _Micaiah thought. _He died before I could speak to him about these things. Can the dead understand the thoughts and feelings of those still living?_

_If the living can understand and feel the thoughts and sentiments of the dead, _Yune replied reassuringly, _Then surely the dead can feel the thoughts and sentiments of the living. _

And so Micaiah smiled slightly to herself, as Yune squeezed her hand again, and let her feelings, her unspoken words, fly to wherever Zelgius awaited in the Afterlife. With Yune's help in this mystical place, surely they would reach him.

_Goodbye, General Zelgius. _

* * *

**Author's Note: **I actually wrote this a few weeks ago, but at the time, I wasn't happy with it. Now, after tweaking it a little, I've decided I do actually like it, so here it is. Why didn't Micaiah talk to Zelgius? What did she want to say to him? Well...this is one possibility :D Thanks to **adlex47Liger0 **for helping me to come up with this idea ^^

Umm...that's all for now, I think. It's time for midterms for me, so I really shouldn't be writing or reading fanfics at all right now. I have essays that require my attention (yet somehow...fanfics are just so much more fun!). And besides...my ideas have, for the moment, dried up DX So until I have more ideas...I might not update for a while ^^;

**Disclaimer: **Nope, I still don't own anything.


	8. Empress Sanaki

**A/N: **Please be aware that this chapter contains **spoilers for Sephiran's identity** (if you didn't know already) and also a **Sanaki/Sephiran **relationship. If you wish to avoid spoilers or dislike the **Sanaki/Sephiran** pairing, please **don't **read any further :)

* * *

After that final battle, everything was supposed to return to normal. They had been victorious after all. And once you're victorious, everything returns to normal because you've wiped out the corruption that caused the war in the first place. The victors are the 'good guys' right? Everything ought to return to normal—or, as normal as possible because that's the reward for the 'good guy's' winning. That's what is _supposed _to happen. So why is it that everything seems like it's a worse mess than before?

She doesn't smile anymore. The light in her golden eyes is gone. She keeps her head down as she walks, and she stumbles more often than she ever has in her life. She clutches her Rexaura tome close to her chest and says so little that her friends begin to wonder if she's lost her voice. She doesn't meet anyone's gaze, she sleeps apart from everyone—even Sothe—and stays up late into the night staring into the night sky.

She doesn't even have Yune to keep her company anymore.

_We won the war against a goddess, _she sighs, _We won the war against a goddess who wanted to kill us all and start anew. _

She knows she ought to be happy. Jubilant, really. She should be with her friends and staying up all night with them, singing songs and dancing around the fire to celebrate their survival. To celebrate the rejuvenation of the world.

But she just can't do it.

She can't sing and dance when the cost of this world came at such a high cost in blood. Not just the blood of the soldiers who follower her banner, or those who followed Crimea or the laguz tribes or even those who followed General Ike. She knows all those soldiers gave up their lives to create this new world (a new world which will spring forth from the old, without obliterating it). No, more blood was spilled. Blood—she had to admit—of someone more important to her than a faceless soldier who used to tend the extra mounts for the army.

Not that she doesn't appreciate the sacrifices of those people. Quite the opposite.

But even so, she's just like everyone else. She too is subject to the emotions both beorc and laguz (and those in between, like herself) are subject to. She isn't _prone _to selfishness, but this one time, she can't help herself.

She gazes up at the starts and sighs longingly. She didn't know him all that well (and she'll readily admit that to anyone who asks) but even so he left a deep impression on her. For once in her life, someone had looked at her with respect. With...something she wasn't quite sure she could name. She wanted to call it love. She thought it was love.

That's not to say she never had been the object of love before she met him. No, of course not. Sothe loved her so much—she wasn't sure she could truly fathom how much—and he showed it in every action (from the time she abandoned him and he still searched for her until now when he continuously did whatever he could to ensure she was comfortable and cheer her up). He wouldn't ever _stop _loving her. She knew. She didn't mind it.

Nolan loved her too. He was like a father to her, the father she hadn't had. Leonardo and Edward were like brothers to her—one serious to a fault and the other a joker (and she was somewhere in between). Laura was her sweet little sister and Aran her close family friend. She was loved in so many different ways by so many different people. She wasn't trying to push all this love aside as if it weren't worth anything because that is completely untrue. But she wanted _his _love. She felt she could have lived with _only _his love.

There was a rustle of footsteps over dried leaves behind her. She didn't move. She remained still on her log, staring sightlessly into the inky sky. The intruder took a seat beside her and for a moment remained blessedly silent. She didn't want to speak to anyone. Perhaps she wouldn't answer at all.

"You and your retinue are leaving tomorrow," the young woman murmured softly, also staring into the sky. It was not a question. It was a statement of fact.

She nodded. She wished her unwanted companion would leave and not say anything more. She didn't get her wish.

"You know," the young woman begin, shifting uncomfortably and playing with a stray strand of her long, purple hair, "It stills feels a little bit surreal to think that I have an older sister. I grew up to become the Empress of a huge country because _I _was the only one who was fit for the job. And _he _always said—whenever I felt insecure about it—that even if I _did _have any siblings, he couldn't see anyone _but _me on the throne."

She didn't know how to respond to this. She didn't respond at all.

Her companion seemed not to notice, or perhaps she didn't care or perhaps she didn't need or want a response. She continued in a soft tone. "But now I wonder. I've...never been very sure of myself as an Empress. I put on a show of confidence, but that's _all_ it is. _He _taught me that. _He _taught me all I know." The young woman paused. "True, I've grown little by little into my role but now...I see you, the sister I didn't know I had and I can't help but think '_She would be so much better at this'._"

She shook her head. _That's not true at all. _The words wouldn't come.

Her companion leaned back on the log and returned her gaze to the sky. "But you won't take my place, I know. You've told me already. And I know for a _fact--_" here she chuckled slightly, "—that _he _wouldn't support my decision to abdicate in favour of you anyway. He would bend to my will—he _always _did—but he wouldn't forgive me for it. He'd tell me I was running away. He'd say he's taught me _never _to do that."

The Silver-Haired Maiden didn't respond. She wondered where this one-sided conversation was heading. Why couldn't this girl just let her wallow in her sorrow in peace? Was that too much to ask?

"But," the word hung thickly in the air. "But he's gone now. My Sephiran is...gone."

At this she turned her head and gazed her sister. The girl was crying silently into her hands. She couldn't see the stars like that. The Maiden wondered what she ought to do, what she could say. But she couldn't comfort her. She was wallowing in her own sorrows. She didn't know Sephiran except as an enemy in one battle. She couldn't find the energy to be sad over his death.

"My Sephiran—no, Lehran." The girl forced herself to stop her crying, although the watery paths down her cheeks shone in the light of the stars. "My Lehran would _never _have wanted me to give into my grief like this. '_Grieve,' _he would say firmly, yet kindly, '_But only when you're alone. Grief is a weapon like any other. It's also private. Grieve when you are alone and spend your time with your friends when you are not.'_ I know that's what he would say." She paused to flick a tear away. "I can hear his voice in my head, Sister, and I can hear each and every inflection of every word. I could never forget his voice. I will _never _forget him."

A slight breeze blew past the two of them and ruffled their hair. It reminded the Maiden of how he had ruffled her hair as he swung Alondite up in wide arcs. That always cast an unintentional breeze to blow past her. She didn't mind that. She missed that. He didn't have Alondite anymore. He wasn't here anymore.

"What I mean to say is..." she seemed unsure of what to say now. She threw caution to the winds (because what did it matter now?). "I love him. Even after he is gone, I _love _Lehran who became Sephiran and who was always Lehran. I didn't _know_ he was Lehran until that battle...but I love Lehran as much as I love Sephiran. And I won't stop loving him or grieving for him. I thought—wished, really—that we would have a 'happily ever after'."

That's what she had wished for, too.

"What I want to say, Sister mine, is that...even though I'll never stop loving him or grieving for him now that he's gone, I can't just give in to despair. And nor can you." She turned her gaze to her sister, the Empress who was still crying and who wasn't going to stop. Her words were very clear. Determined. _Sephiran-Lehran must have taught her that, too. _"I'm always with my friends now—you know, Sigrun and Tanith. Even the Raven King sometimes sits with me. So even though your heart is broken please don't push your friends away! They love you too, you know."

"Not the way _he _did," the Maiden murmured. "Did they ask you to come here and say this?"

"No," the Empress said in a dignified voice. "I've been watching you. I could tell. You're feeling the same sorts of things I am right now. I knew. So, I wanted to help you, if I could."

"Can you bring him back?" the Maiden shot back bitterly.

The Empress snorted in a most unladylike manner. "Of course not. But you know...I have a belief. I think it must have originated with the Herons, seeing as I got it from Lehran when I was still very young. He once told me that when I was lonely and sad, if I wanted to see my parents all I needed to do was to look up at the stars. '_They're up there,' _he told me, _'And if you speak with your heart, they'll hear you. And they'll respond.' _I never tried it. I trusted him with my life but honestly...that seemed a bit far-fetched to me."

The Silver-Haired Maiden didn't say anything. She was looking at the stars again.

"He's up there, Sister," the Empress whispered. "Your Red Knight, your Black Knight. He's up there, looking down at you now. He's probably upset to see you like this. Pushing away all your friends to be alone. Why don't you give it a try? Speak with your heart. He'll answer. I'm sure of it."

"You don't know that," the Maiden murmured, wondering if maybe she should try it. And she couldn't deny the Empress was right about everything she had said.

The Empress stood up then and turned to leave. "I didn't try it back then," Sanaki said softly, "I didn't believe it back then. Now? It's the only way I can hear Lehran's voice until I die and join him again. For eternity."

And she left the Maiden alone to her thoughts.

Her little sister was right, she thought. It wasn't right or healthy to push her friends away like this. She didn't lack love. Except his. And she wasn't even sure if he _had _loved her. She wanted to believe he had. She gazed back at the stars.

_Speak with my heart. _She took in a deep breath. _Zelgius, my Zelgius...if you're up there, if you can hear me..._What to say now? _I want you to know...I love you. Even if you never loved me, I can't help what I feel for you. _A warm breeze caressed her cheek. She imagined it was his hand. _I wish I could have told you sooner, face-to-face. Wait for me, please? I'll join you up there, one day, when my time here has passed._

And as she rose to rejoin her friends, Micaiah was _sure _she heard his voice in her heart.

_I'll always wait for you, love. _

* * *

**A/N: **Why do I always come up with ideas when I should be going to bed? *ahem* Anyway, this turned out a lot longer than I expected. I do like the Sanaki/Sephiran/Lehran relationship, so I was happy to include it. But I felt I should note it above in case anyone is uncomfortable with it, as a fair warning. And yes, I am well aware that this is _supposed _to be a Micaiah/Zelgius collection and I sort of got carried away with Sanaki/Sephiran here. Sorry about that....*sweatdrop*

And yes, I do think Micaiah might be a _little _OOC in this chapter, but I like it, so I don't care.

Now, I need to get to bed. I'm really tired, and unfortunately, I have school tomorrow. Hopefully, I'll be able to update again soon!

**Disclaimer: **Don't own anything.


	9. Sephiran's Sorrow

It always comes down the same thing.

Betrayal was so normal—so natural—that Sephiran felt he ought to have expected this. Planned for it, even. It had been foolish for him to think himself immune from it. Sephiran was many things but immune to the sting of betrayal was not one of them. He was willing to bet (with himself, only) that even the goddess herself was not immune to betrayal, should she ever be put in a position where it was a possibility.

It didn't matter.

It had been so long since he had last experienced a betrayal. That meant something, having been alive for as long as he had. This betrayal...the first one to occur in so very long. If he had been someone else, Sephiran would have laughed at the whole situation. In another man's place, Sephiran would have found this terribly funny.

He was not in another man's place.

_Perhaps this betrayal is...my punishment._

He had been wondering if he would ever be punished as he deserved to be.

"Welcome," he said, striding gracefully out of the shadows. He could almost imagine his old wings held close to his back in a gesture of deference. But no. Those were long gone, a shadowed memory he had tried to forget. He glanced over the motley crew that had invaded Ashera's own home. "Those doors will not open."

The little rag-tag army was tense. They stood on guard. Good. He would have been disappointed to see them act in any other way. Especially when they were standing in Ashera's holy house.

"Sephiran!" his Empress cried happily, running forward and throwing herself into his arms. Poor, naive, lovely Sanaki. He held her tightly for a moment. _This will be my last time._ "You're all right!"

"I am sorry to have worried you, Empress," he said sincerely. She still had so much to learn. He couldn't finish those lessons. It was too bad, really. He pried Sanaki off of him and turned his attention back to the little army. "Those doors will not open," he repeated. "I sealed them myself."

"Unseal them, Sephiran! Please?"

"An Empress does not ask," he admonished with a small smile. "She orders." _My last lesson to you, Empress Sanaki. _"I will not open them. Ashera waits beyond those doors."

There was a silence. Sephiran suspected that only Sanaki hadn't figured it all out yet. He was not quite disappointed in that, even though he had trained her better than that. Perhaps he had grown soft? He hadn't wanted her to know.

The Maiden stood closest to the doors. She shook her silver head. "Oh Lehran, no!" she whispered. "Don't do this. Not again..."

He inclined his head respectfully. "It has been a long time, Yune. I have not gone by that name for many long centuries."

"Why, Lehran? Why again?"

Sephiran held her gaze evenly. "I regret this must happen again, Yune. I am truly sorry." A shadow moved behind her. _It...hurts more than it should. _"Ah, Zelgius..." He shook his head sadly. "Even you have left me."

Zelgius—stoic as ever—inclined his own head. "I...follow a new 'Master' now." He paused, his fingers lightly caressing the hilt of Alondite. Altina's sword, once. "A better one."

Sephiran sighed. "I thought you claimed not to have a heart, Zelgius."

The Knight shrugged. "That is still open to debate." The Maiden at his side snorted.

"You are certain you wish to fight?"

"I will always fight."

"Your life is not guaranteed with them." Sephiran did not look to the blue-haired hero, silently gripping the hilt of Ragnell off to the side (also Altina's sword, once). He didn't need to look at him. Zelgius knew.

"My life was not guaranteed with you," Zelgius replied, not glancing at Ike. _He knew..._

"Indeed." Sephiran wasn't sure why he felt this way. It was only betrayal. Betrayal was inevitable. He could only ever trust Ashera. Only she did not betray. She was honest. She would always do as she said: _I will punish your failure as I would reward your success. _

He had no illusions. Ashera who opposed Yune—Order which opposed Chaos—was predictable. She hated chaos. Her actions had not been unexpected. Sephiran knew she would act as she had. Beorc, laguz, Branded: they were in Yune's jurisdiction. They were chaotic. Prone to betrayal, to pain, to passion.

Sephiran had forgotten that. Working alone for so long and then working so closely with Zelgius, Sephiran had managed to forget all about that. Was this why his betrayal hurt so much? Because he had forgotten Zelgius was capable of it?

"I do not regret my choice," Zelgius said, glancing at the Maiden. He saw Micaiah. Sephiran saw Yune. Zelgius was the lucky one. "I can not go back in time and change my actions. I can only change my future ones."

"You have grown wise."

Zelgius shrugged.

"He has found love, Lehran," Yune said quietly.

"Please stop using that name, Yune," Sephiran requested again. "I gave it up a long time ago."

"You're still Lehran. Do you remember how it is to love?"

He glanced at Zelgius. He didn't need to look at Sanaki. "Of course."

"Then don't fight us. Help us, please? Surely you don't really want Ashera to destroy the world?"

"It is all I have ever worked for," Sephiran replied. "I will not back away now."

The hero stepped forward. "You have too much to answer for to back away," Ike hissed.

Sephiran nodded. "I do. No more talk now, Yune. We fight."

-

_His vision was going black and his life was almost finished. Finally, after so very, very long, Lehran was finally ready to die. He had fought for Ashera all his life. He died for her too. It was the only path for him left. He could not be with his 'Micaiah' like Zelgius. He could not fight for his love, not any more (no matter how much he wished it were possible to change that). Zelgius had many chances which had long since been lost to Lehran. _

_Only Zelgius has any hope for redemption. _

_-_

**A/N:** I wanted to experiment using Sephiran's point of view for this. I wondered what would happen if, instead of fighting Ike in the Tower, Micaiah convinced the group to allow Zelgius to accompany them and leave the final duel between Ike and Zelgius until after the showdown with Ashera. Naturally, in such a case, Zelgius would have to fight Sephiran.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned anything, trust me, Zelgius would never have died.


	10. Stalwarts Unite

_They met in the slums of Nevassa, just as any of their kind were likely to do. Their kind didn't go traipsing around the better quarters of the capital and still worked to keep a low profile in the slums. Informants were everywhere in all parts of the city and you never knew who was one. It was best to remain insignificant. That was simply the way of the world._

(In his mind, this is how their story starts.)

_Because their kind never wandered in the better parts of town and never went undisguised in the slums, it was almost a rare occurrence that they should meet. She wore long, tight sleeves after a long outdated fashion and a pair of old gloves to hide her Mark and a kerchief to hide as much of her silver hair as possible. She couldn't hide her golden eyes; instead, she kept her gaze downward, rarely making eye-contract with anyone. Anyone might sell her out. It was best to be on guard._

_She is small and slim. She's the perfect type for a spy if she disguises herself well enough, but their kind likes to keep low profiles and entering the spy profession is not the best way to accomplish that. No, instead she's a fortune teller. He's seen her in the streets many times, telling the fortunes of the beggars in town. She always moves, never returning to the same spot one day after the next. It's not good to earn a reputation. _

(He likes to imagine her like this.)

_One day, she is hurrying around a corner and bumps right into him. He is much taller than she is and his muscles are toned to make him strong. He might live in the slums but that doesn't mean he's never trained with a weapon. He's so much older than he looks, so it isn't really that unthinkable. He doesn't wear outdated fashions because the Mark on his back is so easily hidden by simply wearing a shirt (and no one would be foolish enough to wander Nevassa without one). No, he wears normal clothes of coarse black fabric and a thin brown cloak with a plain steel sword at his side. He hides by putting up a front of a poor, lone swordsman. They aren't uncommon in Nevassa's slums. The slum taverns have better ale to suit the tastes of such a man._

_The fortune teller looks up and excuses herself. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she says, "I wasn't paying attention." And then she pauses and she looks right into his eyes and she __**knows**__. They have a connection through their mixed blood, and in close quarters, it is easy to tell when that's the case. Even so, most Branded would even then avoid each other; they would draw too much attention if they stuck together. Better to be alone and unknown._

(That's true in reality, too, unfortunately.)

_He shakes his head then. "You have no reason to apologize to me. Accidents happen." He smiles, because he's just a swordsman who's probably only looking for a good tavern to have a mug of hot ale and share stories and news with others like him. He's a regular man, not tied to anyone, master of his own life. It's a wonderful feeling to be in charge of one's own destiny. She doesn't need to read his fortune to tell him that._

"_I should be going," she replies. "It's dangerous to remain together too long."_

_He shrugs. "No one knows about us," he says, "To everyone else, we're just a couple of Nevassa's poor citizens. No one can tell what we are just by looking at us."_

_She opens her mouth to disagree but the words become caught in her throat. He's right and she knows this. She smiles. She has a lovely smile. She nods then. "What's your name? I don't think I've seen you before."_

"_I am Zelgius."_

(He wishes their real first meeting could have been like this.)

_She sticks out her hand (so much smaller than his) and shakes his gently. "I'm Micaiah," she says by way of reply. "It's wonderful to meet you. I haven't met another...like me, before." She drops her hand back to her side. She doesn't elaborate. That could be dangerous. He doesn't think there is anyone around, listening to their whispered conversation. Even so, he is skilled enough to kill any eavesdroppers quickly and silently. _

"_We tend to avoid cities," he says mildly. "It is surprising to find you have taken up a permanent residence here."_

"_Not permanent," she says, "I need to leave soon. Within a few weeks, at the latest." Her reputation, probably, is the reason for that. It's not good to have a reputation, and he has the distinct impression now that she has been here long enough to create one, even with her precautions of moving her fortune-telling location so frequently. Her old-fashioned clothing probably stood out too much anyway. _

(Everything is temporary.)

"_I am leaving tonight," he says, "I've been in town too long. People notice me a swordsman like me, after a while." He pauses and even though he's only just met her, he impulsively continues. "You could leave now, with me. Mages are easy prey. I could protect you."_

(And because this is his dream, she says 'yes'.)

_She thinks for a moment. "I love Nevassa," she murmurs, "But I cannot stay here much longer. I...will come with you, Zelgius. You are very kind to offer me protection. Thank you."_

_And he feels like adding that he would always protect her, so long as he is able, even though they've only just met. It feels like they've known each other for many years, centuries even. He takes her hand again, as if they were any poor couple, and he knows she is well aware that he won't let her go, not ever. He doesn't care if they stand out together, because love doesn't care about that. If they're together, what does it matter if they're Branded? They can still have a 'happily ever after'. _

But this is just his fantasy, his dream. This can't happen, it never _could _have happened. But when he goes to sleep at night, this is what he dreams of and it's the only dream he isn't willing to let go of, even though it's the only dream that was impossible from the start. There is no normal meeting for them in the alleys of Nevassa, no romance between two poor, Branded citizens, and there is certainly no 'happily ever after' awaiting them.

As Zelgius straps Alondite to his side, he wishes that this dream was his reality.

* * *

**A/N:** It's almost impossible to write something happy for these two. Unless it's AU, which I'm not opposed to but I have no ideas for it yet. So angst will work for now. This was fun though. I haven't written a Zelgius viewpoint in a while.


	11. Micaiah's Dawn

_Once upon a time..._

(She thinks this is a good start, since all fairy tales start out this way.)

_There was a young fortune teller who travelled from city to city. She never remained in one place for more than a week at a time because such a thing was dangerous. She knew how to keep herself from being noticed. She'd been doing this for years, it wasn't hard any more. So she wandered and she wandered, alone and solitary. She couldn't rely on anyone. She couldn't stay anywhere for very long. It was just how her life had to be. No need to complain. _

_She hadn't expected to actually meet anyone while she journeyed. _

_The first time they met was in the Talrega region, in a small unremarkable village. She remembers thinking at the time that he was far too noticeable. Too easy to remember. That was dangerous, for people like them. But it wasn't her concern. She only needed to worry about herself. And anyway, he could defend himself easily. _

(She wants her fairy tale to be a little like reality, too.)

_The second time they met was in a small village near the Daein-Crimea border. She had been sitting on a rock outside the inn, cards on her lap and book at her feet. For one whole day, he had stood directly across the square from her, never moving a muscle and never removing his gaze from her. She felt uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny, but she ignored it as much as possible. He was just a mercenary like any other mercenary. She wouldn't ever see him again, she was sure of it. _

_All day, she avoided his gaze. She remembers wondering if she ought to cast her own fortune. She wouldn't normally do that, but his uncomfortable presence set her on edge. No one else was paying attention to her. Night was falling now. It wouldn't take very long. _

_She cast the cards. They seemed to mock her._

(Very little _didn't_ mock the life of a Branded, even one like her.)

_In neither village had they actually spoken. And when she didn't come across him for several months during her journeys after leaving the border town, she had begun to think less about him. She didn't forget him (after all, he was far too easy to remember), but he no longer kept a permanent spot in her mind. It was almost as though she had returned to her old life, journeying and telling fortunes, alone and solitary._

_They met again in Nevassa. Hunters had been on her trail since she left the swamplands. And not just any hunters: Branded Hunters—a special police-like force which specialized in finding and disposing of the Branded. She had done well at avoiding them for the most part, but now she realized it was foolish to enter Nevassa with them on her trail. It was their home turf. There was no part—not even a part of the slums—that they did not know like the back of their hands. Silently, she cursed her wretched planning. There were too many for her to take on alone. A lone mage was easy prey._

_And then, when she was cornered, he saved her._

(Just like he had saved her from Jarod, when she had been cornered then.)

_He swung his sword and protected her from the Hunters. She watched in fascination as he killed them, one by one, sword gleaming in the dying sunlight with their blood. He turned and he smiled at her. "Stay close to me, Maiden," he said, "I will protect you."_

_She had always been taught to accept nothing from strangers. He held out his hand._

_"I will," she murmured softly, "We've been alone for too long, haven't we?"_

_He nodded, grasping her hand tightly, like she was his long-lost lover. And perhaps she was. If she hadn't been before, she thought now that she was. He wasn't a stranger to her any more. It may have been illogical, but who said the heart was logical? He was her prince, her knight in shining armour, and she when she took his hand, she knew it was right. _

_Even the Branded, she realized, could have a 'happily ever after'._

_She wouldn't have it any other way._

But if only that were true! Micaiah stares across the sands of the desert, and she is only vaguely aware of her friends burning the bodies of the Disciples of Order all around her. He helped her again today. He saved her life again today. But that didn't change anything. He was still her enemy (had they always been enemies?). She couldn't go with him, it just wasn't right to leave her friends behind.

She bends down to draw a heart in the sand and adds a zigzag line down the centre. They don't live in a fairy tale, and she knows perfectly well that they won't have a happy ending.

* * *

**A/N:** I don't _mean_ to keep writing mirror chapters like this, but I couldn't help it. And really, is there any young girl who doesn't want a fairy tale ending for her love? (Well, there probably are some girls like that, but for the majority, we all want a happy ending like that don't we?).

And yes, I _promise_ the next one will be happy! I'm already partway through it.


End file.
